Pah… How filthy!
The Spring Breeze Delight Restaurant was located on Hundred Flower Street, the wealthiest area of Xinan County. This street was a favorite gathering place for literati and scholars. As they passed the Sun and Moon Alley, the noise of the crowd grew, and the sounds of carriages and horses filled the air. Restaurants and wine shops lined the street, standing in stark contrast to the poverty-stricken Westside that could bring tears to one’s eyes. This was truly a place of wealth and grandeur.
Among the entire street, the most impressive establishment was the Spring Breeze Delight Restaurant. A large golden-red plaque hung above the entrance, engraved with the words “Spring Breeze Delight” in the script of a top scholar from the previous dynasty, painted in bright gilded mud.
Several servants stood at the door greeting customers. One of them, upon seeing Yu Jinnian and his companion, approached with a smile.
These servants were adept at discerning people’s status, adjusting their service accordingly. Recently, Yu Jinnian had offended the young master of the establishment. Normally, the young master would have already kicked him out, but over the past few days, although there had been some displeasure, no specific orders were given, and even invitations were still sent out as usual. The servant, thinking that Yu Jinnian seemed to still have the young master’s favor, smiled and flattered, “We thought you weren’t coming, Boss Yu. Please come in; it’s been lively for an hour already. We’ve got some new Valley Flower Tea, fragrant as ever. How about a pot for you?”
Valley Flower Tea was a type of Pu’er tea, harvested after the rainy season in the lands of Yunnan. At this time, dry valleys were covered in golden flowers, shining in the clear and refreshing sunlight. The tender tea buds were covered with fine white hairs, hand-picked, and brewed in boiling water. Compared to the first pick of spring tea, it had a slightly lighter flavor, but its aroma was pure and elegant, neither too strong nor too weak, like a gentle breeze from a secluded valley.
Inside the Spring Breeze Delight Restaurant, there was the soft sound of musical instruments, though the musicians were hidden behind a six-panel screen painted with seasonal flowers and birds. The performers were all young girls, tender and graceful, cradling ruans, yueqins, and pipa, singing in clear, delicate voices.
The setup today was quite different from previous days. If the pavilion was typically the most extravagant and worldly of places, today it had transformed into the most refined tea house. The hall had both tall tables and low seats, reflecting the patrons’ status. Those with higher social standing sat on the upstairs window-side seats, surrounded by small, low tables, enjoying the street view while sipping tea and reciting poetry. The lesser-known scholars, many of whom came to find inspiration, sat in small groups around the tall tables downstairs, expressing their frustration at their lack of success.
As soon as Yu Jinnian and his companion entered, several gazes were drawn to them, but they weren’t looking at Yu Jinnian—they were focused on the person following him: Ji Hong.
The literary circle was small, full of people who prided themselves on their aloofness from power, but who also harbored a keen interest in gossip. Xinan County had never seen anyone like Ji Hong before. He wasn’t part of any of their circles, and regardless of his talent, his aura alone outshone everyone else in the building.
However, no one seemed to recognize who Ji Hong was after looking him over carefully.
Unable to uncover anything about Ji Hong, attention shifted back to Yu Jinnian, who appeared much less significant by comparison.
Someone recognized him: “Isn’t that the little doctor the Yang family invited a few days ago?”
Perhaps because of Ji Hong’s presence, even Yu Jinnian seemed to have gained an air of refinement. People glanced at him and laughed, “Yeah, he does have a bit of a divine healer vibe, like a little celestial boy from heaven.”
Just as Yu Jinnian lifted his head a little, swaying the plain fan Ji Hong had written for him, he overheard them joke again, “But the one beside him is the real immortal.”
“…” Of course, that was the inevitable conclusion. Compared to Ji Hong, he really was just a child under the immortal’s seat. That bit of celestial aura people had mistakenly seen in him was only what Ji Hong had let spill over to him.
The servant led them to a corner upstairs, also concealed by a plain silk screen. Through the screen’s edges, they could catch glimpses of the girls plucking strings, their pink skirts faintly visible. The low table was small and square, with two matching idle books on it, a set of lotus-colored snowflake-glazed tea cups, a bamboo leaf incense burner, and a simple tablecloth with tassels draped over the sides.
Seeing the low table, Yu Jinnian’s head immediately started to ache. He glanced enviously at those sitting at the tall tables, but by the time he looked again, Ji Hong had already seated himself with perfect posture, his shoes neatly removed on the low step. To be more precise, this wasn’t sitting; it was kneeling. His knees rested on his legs, his backside against his heels, the front and back of his robe smooth and tidy, his chest and back straight, proud but not arrogant, making Ji Hong resemble a freshly planted pine tree.
The servant had placed them here likely as a gesture of respect, but Yu Jinnian couldn’t handle this kind of “honor.” After barely a few moments of kneeling, he felt extremely uncomfortable, twisting about like a vine.
Ji Hong glanced at him: “Is there a worm in your waist?”
Yu Jinnian had never endured this kind of suffering. Being made to sit properly like this was worse than being sent to the kitchen to wash dishes. Hearing Ji Hong tease him, he refused to take the easy way out and twisted even more, grimacing, “There is a worm, a big one! Feel it, my leg’s about to be bitten off!”
Though he was joking, Ji Hong actually reached out, grabbing at his waist randomly. “Indeed, there’s a worm. Call someone to give it a good beating, and it’ll be fine.”
“…” Yu Jinnian was speechless, swatting Ji Hong’s hand away. With someone as elegant as Ji Hong in front of him, how could he allow himself to be humiliated? So, he straightened his back once more, trying to sit properly.
Ji Hong smiled faintly, seeing that Yu Jinnian looked less like he was sitting and more like he was being punished. He said, “Forget it. Sit however you like. Don’t ruin your legs.”
Hearing this was like receiving a royal pardon. Yu Jinnian cheerfully stretched his legs out from under him, crossing one over the edge of the seat. The servant arrived with a pot of freshly brewed Valley Flower Pu’er tea and two plates of sweet snacks. Noticing Yu Jinnian sitting like a country bumpkin, a trace of disdain flashed across his face. But just as he formed the thought, Ji Hong tapped the table with his fingers, then flipped his hand outward, gesturing dismissively.
The servant had seen this gesture before; it indicated the guest’s dissatisfaction and that there was no need for further service. Such a flick of the hand was tinged with the arrogance of the upper class. Not knowing Ji Hong’s identity, the servant quickly became uneasy, bowed low, and retreated hastily behind the screen, not daring to say another word.
Yu Jinnian, meanwhile, sampled the snacks one by one as if inspecting them, noting down in his mind which had crumbly pastry, which was too sweet, so he could report back to the kitchen later. After sitting cross-legged for a while, he stretched his legs under the table, extending them all the way to Ji Hong’s side.
Ji Hong wasn’t particularly interested in such literary gatherings. He was simply accompanying the young man. So, he quietly read a book, one of those classics that would put Yu Jinnian to sleep. As he idly flipped through the pages, he recalled the boy’s serious face while memorizing texts. Despite holding the book, his mind wasn’t truly focused on it.
Lost in thought, Ji Hong suddenly felt something slide under his robe—a slender foot wrapped in a thin, soft white sock.
Yu Jinnian was merely trying to find a comfortable spot for his legs. Feeling his foot suddenly grabbed, he was momentarily startled and instinctively glanced around. Seeing no one paying attention, he relaxed slightly, but his heart still raced as he tried to pull his foot back. In a low voice, he said, “You… be careful…” He intended to say something sterner, but the words tangled on his tongue, coming out as a trivial complaint instead.
“Hey—!” Yu Jinnian tried to call out to him but suddenly froze.
The hand on his foot slid down a bit, grasping the small, rounded bones on either side of his ankle. He didn’t move because it tickled—not like a mosquito bite but a subtle itch that crept up his bones.
He recalled a young female patient from his past life who had come for back pain. When he suggested an examination, she bashfully asked him to be gentle, explaining that her waist was sensitive and she couldn’t bear to be touched. At the time, he hadn’t understood this feeling, thinking it was an exaggeration. But now, with Ji Hong holding his foot, he was beginning to grasp it—a new and intriguing sensation that stirred something deep inside him.
Yu Jinnian lowered his head to sneak a glance at Ji Hong, who remained expressionless, calmly holding the book in one hand. If not for the folds of his robe and the draped tassels hiding the scene under the table, who could have imagined that this refined gentleman was quietly fondling his ankle beneath his garments?
The jade-colored robe made Yu Jinnian’s fair skin appear even smoother, the redness on his cheeks deepening with a hint of moistness, as though he were being teased. Ji Hong calmly raised his eyes and flipped the book toward Yu Jinnian, leaning forward slightly. Pointing to a line in the text, he said, “How would you read this?”
This was an old verse by an ancient poet, but Yu Jinnian’s mind wasn’t on the poem. His foot was still trapped in Ji Hong’s hand. At first, he had been curious about the sensation, but soon, it started to tingle and tremble uncontrollably. He silently begged Ji Hong with his eyes to let him go.
Ji Hong’s fingers pressed into the hollow below Yu Jinnian’s ankle bone, coaxing him with a playful tone, “How do you read it, hmm?”
Yu Jinnian felt pitiful. He swallowed a couple of times and hurriedly grabbed the book to focus. In a quiet voice, he read, “The wild geese are in the clouds, the fish in the water; this melancholy… hmm, is hard to express? Now let go of me…”
Ji Hong asked again, “What does it mean?”
Yu Jinnian had no idea. He glanced ahead at the next line, which read, “Small words on red paper, telling a lifetime of feelings.” He froze. This was a poem of longing, an amorous verse! Melancholy over what? Longing over what? Which geese, and which fish, were carrying such deep, passionate sorrow? Embarrassed, he snapped the book shut and tossed it back into Ji Hong’s lap, saying, “I don’t understand it!”
“Do you really not understand?” Ji Hong asked with a smile.
Yu Jinnian stuffed a small snack into his mouth, pretending to be too preoccupied to respond, while trying to pull his foot back.
As the two of them were secretly wrestling under the table, a young scholar in a folded hat, holding a book, walked leisurely in from behind the screen. He bowed slightly upon entering, seemingly having overheard their discussion about the poem line “small words on red paper,” and immediately joined in their literary conversation. Although it was supposed to be a discussion of poetry, the young scholar mostly droned on while Ji Hong watched with cold detachment.
After some time, the young scholar smiled at Ji Hong and said, “I got so caught up in the poetry that I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Yan Rong. May I ask your honorable surname?”
Distracted by the conversation, Ji Hong’s grip loosened, and Yu Jinnian finally managed to free his foot. The atmosphere of casual conversation between him and Ji Hong was ruined by this uninvited guest. Ji Hong showed little courtesy, replying curtly, “Just a country bumpkin, nothing worth mentioning.”
“…” Yan Rong, who had been speaking endlessly for a while, felt slighted by Ji Hong’s dismissal. His face darkened as if he had been rudely rebuffed. He sucked in a breath, but as he looked down, he noticed something rustling beneath the low table—a thin leg was pulling back under the handsome gentleman’s robe, with a half-slipped white sock hanging limply on the foot.
He was so shocked that he couldn’t speak. His mind went blank as he stared at the flash of white sock for a long moment. The earlier discussion of the poem—”small words on red paper,” “expressing feelings”—suddenly took on a whole new meaning. These two, who appeared to be reputable individuals, with the younger one being a well-known doctor in the area, were not actors or performers. They were respectable scholars, yet…
Suddenly, Yan Rong understood. His face flushed with embarrassment and anger, his ears burning red. The sight of that white sock stabbed at his eyes, and though he struggled to find words to curse them, all he could manage was a disgusted huff before storming out in a rage.
Once Yan Rong had left, Ji Hong spoke softly, “Put your sock on properly.” It had slipped off when Yu Jinnian had struggled earlier.
Yu Jinnian mumbled an “oh” and discreetly pulled the white sock back on. “Don’t do that again… we’re in public.”
Ji Hong only smiled.
When Yan Rong returned to his seat, there were already three other arrogant young men gathered there, one of whom was Jiang Bingren, the young master of the Spring Breeze Delight Restaurant. Seeing Yan Rong return with half of his ear still red from anger, Jiang Bingren could tell that he had suffered some kind of embarrassment from Yu Jinnian. He secretly laughed at him.
A moment earlier, these few had been asking Jiang Bingren about that mysterious Ji Hong. The Jiang family had some superficial dealings with the Yang family, and it was vaguely rumored that the man surnamed Ji was some kind of important figure—a true golden child of destiny. Although the details were unclear, it was apparent that he was far beyond the likes of Yan Rong’s father, who had wormed his way into a small government position through flattery and opportunism. Jiang Bingren had advised Yan Rong not to bother the icy-faced Ji Hong, but Yan had ignored the advice and gotten the cold shoulder as a result.
Jiang Bingren sipped his tea, fanning himself with his gold-threaded fan, while one of the tall young men, familiar with Yan Rong, poured him some tea and asked, “Zi Rui, did you manage to strike up any conversation?”
Yan Rong remained silent, so the man teased again, “At least you must’ve learned his name?”
“…” Yan Rong’s mind flashed back to the scene under the table. The young doctor’s sock was half-off—who knew what inappropriate places that foot had touched beneath the robe? If they behaved this boldly in public, what debauchery might they indulge in behind closed doors? These were supposed to be upright young men, far more elegant than the spoiled sons of the capital’s aristocracy, yet they had so easily fallen into depravity. He glanced back, seeing two shadowy figures closely huddled together behind the plain silk screen, and angrily muttered, “Pah… How filthy!”
Jiang Bingren was taken aback. How had things escalated to the point where Yan Rong was throwing out words like “filthy”? Surely Ji Hong hadn’t flirted with him? Then it clicked—perhaps it wasn’t Ji Hong flirting with Yan Rong, but rather Ji Hong teasing Yu Jinnian, and Yan had caught them in the act.
It was widely known that Yan Rong, unlike his father, had a strong sense of righteousness and detested immoral behavior. Today, the room was filled with poets more famous than him, but none held higher official ranks than his father. Thus, no one dared provoke him, and even the county magistrate had brought his son to court Yan’s favor.
Jiang Bingren beckoned a servant and whispered a few words in his ear.
The servant nodded and brought a tray of tea and snacks over to the screen where Ji Hong and Yu Jinnian sat. The two were still sitting close, reading poetry together. The small table had been pushed aside, and the younger one had just broken apart a piece of lotus pastry, the powdery pink dessert nestled sweetly between his red lips. The servant quickly averted his gaze, lowered his head, and placed the tray down before speaking softly to Ji Hong, “Our young master wishes to remind you that the man earlier”—he gestured vaguely in Yan Rong’s direction—“is the eldest son of the Assistant Minister of War.”
Ji Hong flipped the pages of the book for Yu Jinnian without much interest, casually remarking, “The son of Yan Zhi? Shouldn’t he be at home proofreading his texts? What’s he doing here?”
The servant broke into a cold sweat. Ji Hong had just referred to the Assistant Minister of War by name and seemed to know a lot about Yan Rong, even aware that he held the position of Proofreader. The servant swallowed and stammered, “He’s here to celebrate his grandmother’s birthday.”
“Got it,” Ji Hong waved him away.
As the servant left the screen, he heard a gentle voice behind him say, “Don’t just eat those dry snacks. Bring some tea.” Chilled to the bone, the servant hurried away and relayed the message verbatim to Jiang Bingren.
Jiang Bingren was stunned, once again revising his assessment of Ji Hong’s status upward. His curiosity piqued, he fanned himself and said, “Ji Hong is always so aloof with everyone, but he treats Nian like a treasure.”
“Oh? His surname is Ji?” The tall young man asked, “And his name?”
Jiang Bingren replied, “His name is just one character: Hong. Who knows if it’s real—it might be something he made up—”
With a loud clatter, Yan Rong knocked his teacup over, spilling it on the floor.
The tall young man laughed, “What’s the matter, Proofreader?”
Yan Rong fell into a sullen silence, refusing to engage. Finding the situation dull, the tall man turned his attention to Jiang Bingren’s gold-threaded fan and said with curiosity, “This fan is quite unusual. You treasure it so much, always carrying it with you. Could it be a genuine work from Master Qingluan?”
Jiang Bingren puffed out his chest proudly, “Of course! It came from the famous Zhenbao Pavilion in the capital—how could it possibly be fake?”
The tall young man’s interest was piqued, and he asked, “Young Master Jiang, have you met him yet?”
Jiang Bingren suddenly felt a bit awkward. “No, no, I haven’t…” He quickly changed the subject to save face and asked Yan Rong, “Wasn’t it said that this year at the Qingluan Poetry Gathering, that person was supposed to attend? What happened—did he go or not? Brother Yan, you’ve spent time in the capital, so you must know what Master Qingluan looks like.”
The tall young man also turned his attention to Yan Rong, eagerly waiting to hear more.
Yan Rong’s expression was complicated. At times, he pressed his lips tightly together, and at other moments, his mouth gaped open as if he couldn’t find the words. In between, he kept glancing toward the shadows behind the screen.
Jiang Bingren, puzzled, remarked, “Brother Yan, why do you keep looking over there? There’s nothing worth watching.”
The tall young man, thinking Yan Rong was still upset over his earlier cold reception, tried to curry favor by sneering smugly, “Exactly. Isn’t he just someone who got in through the back door? White on the outside, but only uses it to, well… dirty business with men. Disgusting.”
The sentiment of the time was strange. While it was considered refined and a status symbol for officials to keep beautiful male companions, it was another matter entirely if a man chose to live with another man in a true partnership. That was seen as a violation of social norms and something to be scorned.
Neither Young Master Ji nor Doctor Yu looked like mere actors or playthings, so naturally, the assumption fell toward the latter.
However, the tall young man’s words were exceptionally crude. Even Jiang Bingren, who had been enjoying the gossip, felt it was too vulgar. He covered half his face with his fan and lowered his head to sip his tea. Yet the person who should have easily joined in with an insult, Yan Rong, suddenly slammed the freshly replaced teacup down on the table, his face twisted in anger. “Enough! What kind of talk is this? Such words are an insult to decency!”
The tall young man was startled, momentarily frozen. “I… why are you so upset?”
Jiang Bingren blinked, sensing tension rising between the two and quickly stepped in to diffuse the situation. “Let’s not dwell on unpleasant things. Brother Yan, tell us more about Master Qingluan. We’re all curious!”
This couldn’t have been more unfortunate. Yan Rong indeed knew quite a bit about Master Qingluan. Not only that, but he also knew who Master Qingluan truly was. However, he glanced again at the screen, feeling a mix of confusion and unease. He awkwardly muttered, “I haven’t seen him. He didn’t attend this year.”
The tall young man, frustrated and sarcastic, laughed, “Even someone as knowledgeable as the Proofreader can’t know everything, it seems.”
Yan Rong, known for his pride, was deeply irritated by the jab. However, because the topic involved Master Qingluan, he swallowed his anger. After all, the truth—that Master Qingluan was none other than Ji Shuluan, the youngest son of Duke Li—was a closely guarded secret, even known to the Emperor himself. How could Yan Rong reveal such information and boast about it?
Many in high society knew this secret, but only among the elite. It wasn’t a tale for casual gossip.
The youngest son of Duke Li was famously talented but also reserved and reclusive. This was common knowledge in both the court and among the nobility. Some of Duke Li’s old colleagues even joked about him, saying he raised his son like a sheltered daughter.
The story of Master Qingluan had actually been inadvertently revealed by the Emperor himself.
It happened during a royal banquet, where the Emperor had invited his closest ministers and rising stars in the court. Yan Rong’s father, Yan Zhi, had also been invited. During the banquet, someone brought up Duke Li’s frail and gentle son, and the conversation naturally turned to Minister Min, whose son was also present. The Emperor, slightly tipsy, let slip, “Xuefei, are you still holding me to that bet? The Qingluan Poetry Gathering is soon, and if Duke Li’s son still refuses to show up, you’ll be coming to the palace to copy scriptures for me!”
It was only then that the courtiers realized that the famous “Master Qingluan” was actually a creation of Min Xuefei, who had borrowed poems from Duke Li’s son without his knowledge.
The Emperor, realizing his slip, tapped his head and drunkenly scolded himself, “Oh, I’m drunk! Forget you heard that. It wouldn’t be fun if the secret got out!”
The Emperor’s drunken words were as good as a royal decree, so no one dared spread the story, though everyone quietly understood the situation.
Yan Rong had been in shock for days after learning this from his father. He had always been skeptical of the Duke’s son’s supposed talents, thinking it was just flattery toward Duke Li. But after discovering that Ji Shuluan, the boy he had admired from afar as Master Qingluan, was actually the same person, Yan Rong was finally convinced of his brilliance.
Despite knowing the truth, Yan Rong had never had the chance to meet Ji Shuluan in person. His father, Yan Zhi, had been promoted from a provincial post and had only been in the capital for three years. Yan Rong had passed his exams and received his official post that year, only recently moving to the capital with his father from their hometown in Xinan County. Thus, he had never seen Duke Li’s son.
As the poetry gathering approached, rumors spread that Duke Li’s son had fallen seriously ill and was declining all visitors. This further dashed any hope Yan Rong had of meeting him.
Thus, even though Yan Rong knew who Master Qingluan was, he still had no idea what he actually looked like.
All he had to go on were a few words of high praise from Min Xuefei, forming in his mind an image of a tall, pale, and dignified figure, cold and elegant like frost. He knew that the son of Duke Li had only one name: Hong.
The fact that Duke Li’s son had suddenly taken ill during the poetry gathering was suspicious, and no one knew exactly what kind of illness it was. Some speculated that it was a mysterious ailment that might never be cured. Even stranger was that Duke Li didn’t seem particularly concerned, continuing to use his household doctors without any sense of urgency. It wasn’t until the Emperor heard of the illness and ordered that renowned doctors be summoned to the capital that there was any sign of concern from the Duke’s household.
For three months, famous doctors were summoned one after another, only to be sent away. The Duke’s household grew increasingly quiet, even the Emperor stopped inquiring about the situation. Despite the apparent calm, there were still messengers on horseback coming and going from Duke Li’s residence.
Yan Rong had questioned the dismissed doctors. One said it was a loss of yang energy, another claimed it was a depletion of yin essence. One doctor swore he had seen the young master coughing up blood in bed, soaking the blankets, and staining the floor. Another said he was breathing heavily like an ox and had limbs as cold as ice, barely able to survive three more days. There were all kinds of bizarre descriptions, leaving one with the impression that every illness in the world had somehow befallen Ji Shuluan all at once.
But three days had come and gone, and three months later, Ji Shuluan was still alive. He hadn’t recovered, but he hadn’t died either. Strangely, no famous doctors were being called in anymore. It was a medical mystery.
Yan Rong popped a few crunchy peanuts into his mouth and chewed as he glanced back toward the screen.
Inside that screen sat another young man, equally elegant and striking. His surname was also Ji, and his name was Hong. His skin was indeed pale, his demeanor icy, and he sat tall and straight like a pine tree. Judging from his posture, he wasn’t short either.
Ji Shuluan had been bedridden for months, neither recovering nor dying, while the Duke’s household seemed calm, and those fast messengers came and went from the estate. The Emperor’s initial concern had turned into leisurely indifference. Suddenly, all of this made perfect sense.
Perhaps, Ji Shuluan wasn’t sick at all—he had run away!
Yan Rong slammed his hand on the table, startling everyone around him, including Jiang Bingren. But just as he was about to speak, the peanuts in his mouth suddenly slid down his throat and lodged there, choking him. He bent over, coughing violently, but the more he coughed, the deeper the peanuts got stuck in his airway.
“Ah—! Ah—! Help, help…” His face quickly turned beet red, his mouth gaping wide as he clawed at his neck, veins bulging on his forehead.
Jiang Bingren initially thought Yan Rong had just swallowed his tea wrong, but seeing him in such pain, nearly suffocating, he panicked, unable to think of what to do. “Brother Yan, what’s happening to you?”
The tall young man next to him jumped up in alarm, shouting, “Call a doctor!”
“Oh, a doctor! A doctor!” Jiang Bingren finally snapped out of it, kicking a nearby servant in desperation. “What are you all standing around for? Go get a doctor!”